“What have you learned about this CLA group today?” Ben asked.
“So far, we don’t have much. They were on everyone’s radar, but no one worried about them. They seemed all rhetoric and no bite. We still do not know why they met with a far-right German nationalist group. Plus, we’re not completely sure who shot whom first. From the surveillance we’ve pulled, it looks like the CLA ambushed the Germans, but we don’t know why. It’s all bizarre.” She glanced down at her watch. “On that note, time to face the music. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you ever call me that again, I will transfer you to Fairbanks.”
“That’s just mean. You know I can’t handle the cold. This bayou boy thinks Houston is in the north.”
“How did you survive Quantico?”
“I don’t know. I’ve put that horror show out of my mind. There was this white shit that was everywhere. I thought I was a popsicle from when I got there to when I landed back in NOLA.”
Sarah couldn’t help but let out a slight chuckle. “Anyway, time to play politics.” Murphy raised her mug at Ben as she left the breakroom and headed to the elevator. The doors opened, and the car was empty. The elevator ride to the basement provided a brief respite from the chaos. She navigated through the maze of corridors until she reached the SCIF, using both a palm print and a retina scan to access the room.
Inside, she entered the conference ID information and waited. A message on the screen said, “The Host Will Be with You Shortly.” Sarah sat down in the lone chair in the room and waited. Ten minutes after the designated time for the meeting, a professional woman with black hair in an updo appeared on the screen.
“Agent Murphy,” Sepi Amin greeted.
“Good evening.”
Amin didn’t respond kindly. “Status report.”
Murphy provided a brief report of all the information the FBI had gathered that day. Amin took copious notes during the entire conversation. Amin periodically asked for clarification, but the woman mostly let Murphy provide what they’d learned.
“You’re telling me, we still don’t know what the meeting was about?”
“Unfortunately, no. Various intelligence agencies had not given the CLA a serious enough threat level to attempt infiltration, so we’re still trying to find an asset willing to talk.”
“Any idea why we’re so far behind?”
“I wish I had an answer. I have a few theories—”
“Do tell.” For the first time in minutes, Amin looked directly into the camera.
“Again, these are just theories.”
“I understand.”
“First, it’s possible that the CLA simply flew under the radar. The group operated within legal loopholes or blind spots. Simply put, they’ve exploited the limitations of existing intelligence practices. If this is the case, they know a lot about how HVEs are assessed and how to avoid raising their profile until they were ready to strike. Another theory is that the CLA has infiltrated key intelligence agencies, which could allow them to manipulate or disable surveillance systems, forge documents or tamper with intelligence reports.”
“How easy would that be?” Amin asked.
“I would like to tell you it’s impossible, but we both know nothing is impossible.”
“True. Do you have any other theories?”
“New leadership,” Murphy said. “It’s possible the group has new leadership that has urged them to a more militant and militaristic stance.”
“Or maybe the existing leadership became frustrated with their lack of progress and decided that violence was the only way to achieve their goals,” Amin added.
“Possible. Again, we just don’t have enough information.”
“What do you need from our end?”
“I’m waiting for a warrant to search Benjamin Jackson’s property. He’s the last-known leader of the group. We’re hoping to obtain it in the morning and conduct a raid on the ranch where he resides in West Texas.”
“And you’re coordinating with the Dallas and Oklahoma field offices?” The question came off less as a question and more as a statement.
